


Roses (The Reflection of Noah Czerny)

by imherenow



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Canon Compliant, Death, Ghosts, Loss, Magic, Melancholy, Memories, Ocean, Past Character Death, Post-The Raven King, Sad Ending, Skateboarding, Song Lyrics, What Have I Done, everyone aside from noah are only mentioned, noah's second sister is named liliana, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 12:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12887541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imherenow/pseuds/imherenow
Summary: As he sits on the cold grey shore, water lapping at his heels, Noah realizes he came to terms with his passing a long time ago.-alt title: The Melancholy of a Poltergeist-based on Roses by Watsky





	Roses (The Reflection of Noah Czerny)

_Don’t let my ghost drag you down_

            Noah knew that he hadn’t been the same. Quiet. Shy. Cold. Smudgy. Empty. A husk of what he once was. A shell of the boy who founded Raven Day. A far cry from the skateboarder, the street racer, the boy who drank his mother’s birthday schnapps and never apologized until far too late, the one-time cross-dresser, the kid with the mindset of ‘fuck the police’ whilst still being an upstanding citizen who paid every ticket and kept eye contact.

_If you don’t see me around, it doesn’t mean that I fell_

            He remembered being so entranced by the glitter that when it broke he just…drifted. His drifting was never so much a disappearance as it was a trance. His mind had fallen still, watching the shine drift slowly down, and quietly slipped into the rest of idle, idle time. There was Gansey, there was Blue, there was Adam and Ronan and Opal, and him on Blue’s mattress, and Whelk, and the first time he successfully did a kick-flip, and Henry, and the little smirk on Kavinsky’s face when Ronan reluctantly accepted his offer. He had never been there, but he always was.

_Yeah, I’m doing well. I’ve got some roses to smell._

            Noah’s memory of the funeral was sharp. Clear, painfully so. Roses on the casket, nothing but bones inside. He never liked roses. He remembered being inside, if only in a fleeting moment of claustrophobic panic. In a world so wide, there could be nothing worse than being trapped inside a box of silken darkness where movement and brainwaves were silenced ~~, aside from having your skull bashed in with a skateboard by your ‘best friend’ and finally being released from your agony only to be trapped in a never-ending cycle of traumatically replaying events~~. He remembered whispering into Blue’s ear, breath strikingly real as it passed through his lungs.

            “Tell her I’m sorry…” Though he only mentioned the Schnapps by name, he was truly sorry for everything. For not telling his mother when he left. For giving Whelk the upper ground. For dreaming of ravens soaring and only telling a few. For quietly mocking Adam’s hair after a long day. For never enjoying Nino’s. For laughing at jokes that would have made Blue furious. For kissing her. For kissing others before her. For dreaming himself as the king, when he would serve only to bring the king up to par. For losing Adele’s beanie. For losing her Adele CD. For feeding his rabbit smuggled asparagus. For losing himself in a classic game of Galaga and not noticing the storm outside. For giving himself away. For giving up. For everything. For losing them. For losing himself.

_I hope you smile when I’m gone;_

_It means I had the strength to move on_

            Because it did. He didn’t want to be the burden of their grief. When they smiled, beautiful, crooked, brilliant, sly, coy, ecstatic, dreaming, scheming, teasing, hidden, bitter, shy, in-love, the world stopped for a moment to stare. They were breathtaking, all of them. Every single second they smiled, it meant they dropped their grief over him, their guilt, and were truly happy, if only for a fleeting moment. He knew that once they smiled, he was allowed to leave them. He knew that once they smiled, they were supported by each other.

_To find another story to tell,_

            Noah had been kept ‘alive’ by Cabeswater to be its messenger, its voice. Captured by time, woven into it like a fly trapped in a web. He had experienced it all. Every second of his life, every second of theirs, and yet he still stood in the present, reliving new lives. He wouldn’t have traded it for anything. He was allowed to stay, to break the rules.

_To answer the bell_

            Every clock chime made his blood go cold before he met them.  Every hour of impossibility that passed spurred the fear in his core. He heard the words he only found out he said later when he found himself breathing again. He knew thing form the future, things about people he had never met before. Every chime built the fear that his next moments would be his last.

_I’ve got some roses to smell._

            He remembered staring at the posters hastily made by his mother: ‘ **HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY?’** Pictures of his scrunched-up, pig-snout face, of his laugh, of his school photos, of him at the skate park. He knew they held a memorial at Aglionby during Raven Day after six months. His mother never stopped looking, though. Seven years. For seven years she searched, confronting friends and family and police. It made him want to scream. He did. He yelled at her until his voice went hoarse. He stood in front of her and spoke in a voice threatening to break while she sobbed over a glass of amaretto.

It startled him when Gansey asked his name, asked him about himself. He was used to being invisible. When he suddenly wasn’t, he ran back home, calling out to his mother again and again. She kept tapping away at her laptop with dead eyes. It broke him. When he returned from his inconsolable numbness, days later, Gansey spoke again in that honey-smoked tone, with an edge of concern in the back of his voice and on his face. Noah’s peace of mind was the group of popular misfits, the same as he was. He remembers asking Ronan to forego the roses at his funeral. He remembers his promise to try. He remembers a smile before he drifted again.

_When magic’s happening, my habit’s been coiling_

_up a memory and trapping it right in the cavity of my ribs,_

_like the doors of a cabinet might._

            From the moment he was (relatively) resurrected, everything he’d experienced had been heightened. His pain, his thought, his anger, his anxiety, his confidence. Whenever Ronan pulled something out of his head, whenever Gansey used his voice, whenever the women of 300 Fox Way did some huge ritual, that overall sensitivity faded. It terrified him. The only solace he could find was in his own mind. Those strange memories from every second he had been alive, held close at his ribs. Beating in place of his heart, thrumming with magic. Pulsing with life when he felt his fade.

_But you can’t hold onto a shadow just by grabbing it tight._

_Set it free, let it back into the light._

            Noah knew he was past human when he shook hands with someone for the first time after waking again. How cold he was. How light. How blurred. He noticed the way that Ronan’s gaze cut through him the first time they locked eyes. He noticed that his shadow was that of glass, shimmering and warped. For those first years, lonely and colder than he had ever been, he observed it, focusing on keeping himself strong. He wanted - **needed** \- to stay physical, to stay real. As those years progressed, though, he forced himself to accept what he had become. Noah let himself be the smudgy ghost who knew everything, yet nothing at all.

_Never out of my heart, even when out of my sight._

            The more resigned he became, the more the longing grew in his chest, dragging him down into the dirt. Heavy heart, eyes, lungs, stomach. Dry heaving and tears. Laughter through pain. He missed them. All of them. Adele. Gansey. Blue. Liliana. Ronan. Adam. Opal. Henry. Maura. Persephone. Calla. Mr. Gray. It hurt to see them go on without him, but he knew it was for the best. It hurt to see them grieve. He loved them all, he always has, so he knew when he wasn’t strong enough to hold onto them anymore.

_Leaving is supposed to be hard._

            It is. God, it is. Noah wanted to stay. Noah wanted to live in Monmouth, and cheer for Ronan in his car, and march along ley lines, and laugh until he cried, and receive the patented Gansey Hug, and play with Blue’s hair, and touch his cold fingers to Adam’s neck, and meet Henry for real, and show off his skills on both a surf and skateboard, and break cheap plates, and eat the equally loved and hated avocado/sausage deep dish at Nino’s with them. Noah wanted to **live**.

            But he couldn’t.

            And he knew that.

_Man, I thought it was so selfish of people I love_

_to keep falling out of my life,_

_but now I know._

            Noah understood when he walked into Cabsewater for the last time, he wouldn’t have the chance to go back home. As Whelk shoved him onto the ground, he pictured his dad’s disappointed face when he didn’t immediately come home. As his boot dug into Noah’s thigh, he pictured the worry on everyone’s after a school week of no-show. As his own skateboard was lifted into the sky, he pictured the future he would never get to achieve.  The force and shock of the board’s contact jerked his head to the side, and he tried to scramble back on his hands and feet, nose drizzling blood and bone already crunching. As Whelk’s face hardened, as he swung again, and again, and again, Noah pondered about how he had cursed his grandmother for passing, and his favorite rock stars, and TV shows for ending. He realized, in his last coherent moment, even warped with pain and delirium, that he would cause that same pain when he died.

_No, I don’t take it personal if you’ve got a really lovely place to go_

            He knew that they wouldn’t forget him; they would drink on his anniversary, visit his grave whilst in Henrietta, point out sparkly trinkets and say it reminded them of him, and leave out a gift or two on his birthday. They would never forget him, but he would be put in the backdrop of their minds. They would all go on to be amazing, to do astronomical things, without him.  They would continue on with their lives, without him. And he was fine with that. He was lucky to have even met them. Now, he couldn’t hold them back.

_I will chase my goals to make me whole,_

_‘cause it’s urgent we love and be loved._

            He had been reckless, even as he was fading and desperately holding onto every second. He had been reckless as he kissed Blue. He had been reckless the time he tried to speak with Kavinsky. He had been reckless at Monmouth, poking fun at Ronan. He had been reckless doing anything at all. It was funny, the mellower he acted, the more high-strung he was. He had checked off his bucket list after he died. The more he did, the less he felt.

_I’ve begun to scrub up with detergent to shine up my soul._

            Noah was never a religious person. His belief had been shoved into the ground further when he came back as a ghost. It made it hard to believe of heaven or hell or rebirth or anything when he stayed on the earth in a limbo where people could interact with him. The good he did as a spirit was remedying past mistakes. The apologies he made to people, under his breath as he passed them on the streets. The people lost on the streets, whispered directions. He liked to pretend he was doing good, as if the chance of heaven taking him in was real.

_Am I living to feed a machine that I’m blind to see?_

            The continuation of his life made him feel like some sort of gear or bolt, constantly working and spinning without control over the situation or an idea of where he was going. Circular time, circular him. Again, and again, and again, he would watch the world pass by as he witnessed all of it. Every action seemed to be critical in some way. Every moment he lingered seemed to have some detrimental aftereffect. He was sick of it, but he knew it was crucial, in a way. Every moment was bringing Gansey back to life, and giving Ronan his dreams, and holding Adam in his heart and head as his Magician. Noah was at once what they were searching for and what they searched with.

_I’ve already spent too much time trying to getting my followers up_

_and crying out for attention,_

_knowing well that it don’t mean shit._

            As the bright, flashy person he once was, he had the newest iPhone, and Facebook, and Twitter, and whatever social media he could. Selfies and parties and bad jokes and quoting Blink-182. It was impressive how many people bought into it. How many people looked at his rants and snippets of conversations, and decided that they enjoyed it. He called out for them, faking scandals and over-exaggerating a bruised arm. Noah would have looked back on it and cringed away. He had always known it would pass into something bigger, better, anyway. He supposed he would, too.

_I’m done being a bitch to ambition, I’m already rich,_

_because I’ve got a head that’s full of million-dollar questions,_

            Even coming from a family of prestige and a background of money, Noah had always taken it for granted. He liked to say that he found his riches in his head, in the little things that life had to offer. Rich when he won in a game tic-tac-toe. Rich when he skipped a stone more than once. Rich when he got a hug from a friend, and rich when he gave one. Rich when a sound spiraled into a story. Rich when a stray cat would butt its head against his hand. Rich when he found a quarter on the ground to give to the homeless people on the street. Rich when he stumped a teacher. Rich when he was caught in a rainstorm. Rich when someone did something remarkable. He was rich in daily occurrences. He was rich because of his mind.

_And the length of it is,_

_I don’t need the courage to work,_

_I want the strength to quit._

            He isn’t rich anymore. He isn’t bubbly anymore. He isn’t trapped in time, or drifting, or breathing, or bleeding, or in pain, or alive, or laughing, or crying, or **anything** anymore. Noah is dead. He is alone. He was watching the world from inside it, but now watches from a still point. They have to let him go as much as he has to let himself go. He isn’t with them anymore, and he needs to accept that. He isn’t rich anymore.

_Don’t let my ghost drag you down._

            The world has stopped spinning around him. The clouds rolling in are grey, much like the sky. It looks like rain. Noah has always loved the rain. As the sound of a gentle crash cascades against his ears, his gaze falls from the never-ending sheets of condensation. There are waves beating the shore in front of him. Mist settles on his skin, and he can feel it. The hair raises on the back of his neck and his arms. He hasn’t felt something like this since he was alive, but he knows for sure that he isn’t now.

_If you don’t see me around, it doesn’t mean that I fell._

            Noah’s feet are bare. He can feet the wet sand between his toes, and it is cold. His heels dig into its grain while he walks toward the water. There is no sun, but the world around him is as bright as it can with the impending storm. There are cliffs standing proud behind him, and smooth pebbles tucked into the beach beside him. His legs stop moving, and he takes a deep breath of the salty air, his first in seven years.

_Yeah, I’m doing well._

            The beach is wide, empty. There is no wind. There is no sound other than the tide and his own breath. The surf wets the edge of his khakis. He watches as a piece of driftwood crawls onto the ground, and then the ravenous force of the ocean drags it back, along with the loose granules surrounding his feet. It’s beautiful, really.

_I’ve got some roses to smell._

            The sand sifts through his fingers as he sits on the damp ground. Noah digs his heels into the sand, water rushing up to his calves and back into the body from which they came. He misses everyone, but knows he can’t go back anymore. They have moved on, and it’s time for him to as well. His head tips backwards as his bodyweight rests on the heel of his hands. The sensation is still new to him, but he feels lighter than he did a moment ago. The air suddenly smells of his mother’s perfume, and his funeral, and Helen Gansey’s car. Roses. A chill finds its way down his spine.

_I hope you smile when I’m gone_

The tide is creeping higher, and the thin wisps of cloud beneath their curtain of a cumulonimbus speed by. Noah adjusts his position, thoughts and memories racing through his mind. He stares up at the sky with his head on the earth. A hand finds its way into the air. Opaque, disintegrating into translucent. He isn’t scared. Not anymore, at least.

_It means I had the strength to move on,_

            Noah is used to the anxious replay of past sentences while laying down. Now, the careful reminiscing is just that. Careful. There are no ulterior motives, no magical forests controlling his every move, no curse or story or anything. He’s simply remembering everything he did. The wish of redoing past mistakes is still there, but he realizes there was truly no other option at those times. He’s never believed in destiny, but knows everything he’s ever done ended him up here. He wouldn’t change it for the world.

_To find another story to tell_

            Noah is dead. He has accepted that. He embraced that fact. Since Noah recognized it, he’d only been used as a messenger. With water at his shoulder blades, the first drops of rain hitting his forehead, he feels this is some sort of reward. Finally. Does he not deserve a reward for all he’s done? He feels as light as ice floating on the strange grey ocean. Is he floating? He feels he could drift away, but he’s done drifting.

_To answer the bell,_

            As the water covers his ears, his nose, his whole body, he sees the ripple of the water above him, the raindrops falling at a faster pace. He swears he hears a clock chime in his ear. Twelve. The start and the end of a day, a year, a life. He cannot feel the water against his flesh anymore, but he can feel himself give a smile. Bitter and happy. In his final moments, he is both glad to go and hopelessly empty. He has given all he has. He has poured out his heart. He has worn himself down to the very threads of himself. After all he has done, it is time to die again. It is time for him to disappear for the last time. And Noah lets himself dissolve into the ocean.

_I’ve got some[roses](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDvzjmy6UgY) to smell._

**Author's Note:**

> hey this hurt to write  
> i had to take out a couple lines to make it fit him better  
> please leave a comment i thrive on both compliments and criticism


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